I realized I’ve been neglecting my tumblr but I finally have the new version of Blood & Wind started and uploaded. It’s on both Wattpad and AO3 and it’s now called Wasteland, Baby (Yes, after the Hozier song). It takes place at a different point in time and a few minor details differ, but it’s the same characters as were in Blood & Wind, meaning Aemma is still the protagonist. If ya’ll feel so inclined, the first chapter is up, and I am working on the second as we speak!
AO3 - x
Wattpad - x
I also wanted to post to get some opinions about a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms fic I’ve been thinking about. I’m torn between a Lannister main character or a Targaryen main character. It would likely have a Valarr heavy focus with hints of Aerion and Daeron throughout. Would love to know what ya’ll would rather read!!
"He was a shorter, slimmer, handsomer version of his sire, without the twice-broken nose that had made Baelor seem more human than royal. Valarr’s hair was brown, but a bright streak of silver-gold ran through it."
— GEORGE R. R. MARTIN, THE HEDGE KNIGHT (1998)
Valarr being so soft spoken and gentle even in his grief in the wake of his father’s death. I don’t know if the actors decided to play it that way, but he really did sound exactly like Baelor - truly the heir to the People’s Prince. A gentleman till the end, with his pretty eyes and angst. Even the “begone with you Sir Duncan” was so quiet and reined in.
make sure to follow your favourite fanfiction authors on tumblr to get such important updates as, "i'm Thinking about the fic really hard, i swear" "hashtag #notwriting" "im going to commit mass murder if i have to write" "theoretically if the next chapter came out in five months--"
In which Princess Aemma Velaryon finds herself betrothed to Prince Aemond Targaryen in a futile attempt to quell the rising tensions between their divided household and flees to the North, when her prophetic dreams show her no other way out.
In which Cregan Stark is bound to an oath his father before him swore to Rhaenyra Targaryen and discovers himself dragged into a war to end all wars, but finds new reasons for honoring his promises in a runaway princess.
Pairings; Cregan Stark x OC, (implied/past)Aemond Targaryen x OC
Tropes; Slow Burn, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, strangers to friends to lovers, friends to enemies(Aemond)
Warnings; Toxic relationship(Aemond), abuse/neglect of character in her youth, violence and gore typical of HotD
AO3 - moosoobie
Wattpad - anestheticaesthetic
If enough people are interested I may also post on here, but it really just depends. Much love and please message me with any other questions/comments! 💕
Took the snowy weekend to build up a few more chapters and the next chapter is now out on both AO3 and Wattpad! Super excited because I now have a beta reader and someone to yap about all my ideas with! Thanks @titanessthemis123 !! Also, go check out their fic, Beneath Deep Blue Dreams, it's so good! 💕 Also also,, this is the last chapter before Cregan and Aemma finally meet which is super exciting!
Girlie, the fact that your stories aren’t famous yet is CRIMINAL
Ugh I just read your Cregan x northern!reader, my heart cracked, literally shattered, that shit made me feel things I didn’t even know a person could feel. My view on writing has forever changed, in the best way possible 💜💜
Could you maybe do a somewhat silly one, or just a fluffy one? I was in a buss crash a while ago, and I couldn’t really move my shoulder for a few days (don’t worry I’m fine now :>) and it kinda got me thinking, how would Cregan react to reader falling off their dragon (at a somewhat low altitude) but still like being kinda injured? Not that bad tho just a good ol’ bonk
oops… i took a bit to write this but! thank you soooo much anon <33 husband!cregan would feel so sick at the thought of you hurt but i also feel like he’d try to lecture you
You hadn't meant to fall.
The wind had been particularly strong that day, whipping across the volcanic plains of Dragonstone with an unusual ferocity. Your dragon, a magnificent beast of deep emerald scales, had been fighting against the currents all morning. Despite your years of experience riding, sometimes nature had other plans.
It happened in a heartbeat. A sudden gust caught your dragon's wing at precisely the wrong angle, and for a split second, the world tilted. Your fingers, that had been wrapped tightly around the saddle's leather straps, slipped.
The fall wasn't particularly high – perhaps thirty feet at most – but time seemed to stretch endlessly as you plummeted. You had just enough presence of mind to try to position yourself for the impact, as years of training had taught you.
The landing was still brutal.
Pain exploded through your right side as you hit the ground and rolled, your momentum carrying you across the rough terrain. When you finally came to a stop, every breath sent sharp daggers through your ribs. Your dragon's distressed roar echoed overhead, but it was another sound that caught your attention – the thundering of hooves approaching at a breakneck pace.
The world was in and out of focus as gentle hands lifted you onto a horse. Voices buzzed around you like angry bees, but you couldn't make out the words through the ringing in your ears. The journey to the castle passed in a blur of grey stone and concerned faces.
The maesters' chamber was warm and dimly lit when they brought you in. You drifted in and out of consciousness as they examined your injuries, their chains clinking softly as they moved around you. The pain in your ribs had settled into a dull throb, thanks to the milk of the poppy they'd given you upon arrival.
It could have been minutes or hours later when the heavy wooden door burst open with such force that it slammed against the stone wall. The sudden noise made you wince, but you'd know those footsteps anywhere – quick, purposeful, yet slightly uneven from an old injury. Cregan.
"Where is she?" His voice was rough with barely contained emotion. "Seven hells, why wasn't I informed immediately?"
"My lord," one of the maesters began, "we needed to assess–"
"Out," Cregan commanded, though his voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper. "All of you. Out."
The maesters filed out quietly, and for a moment, there was only silence. You kept your eyes closed, knowing what was coming – the lecture about being more careful, about taking unnecessary risks. But it didn't come.
Instead, you felt the gentlest touch on your cheek, so light it might have been your imagination. Then Cregan's breath hitched, a sound so soft and vulnerable it made your heart ache.
"You impossible woman," he whispered, and his voice shook ever so slightly. "Do you have any idea what it did to me, hearing you'd fallen? Seeing your dragon circling without you?"
You opened your eyes then, finding his face just inches from yours. The mighty Lord of Winterfell, the Wolf of the North, looked utterly wrecked. His dark hair was windswept, as if he'd run all the way from wherever he'd been when he got the news. There were lines of worry etched around his eyes that you'd never seen before.
"Well," you managed a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood, "at least I landed somewhat gracefully."
His expression didn't change, remaining serious and intense. You'd seen this look before – in council meetings, during war discussions – but never directed at you with such raw emotion. Just as you were about to apologize again, the corners of his mouth twitched, and slowly, like dawn breaking over the winter landscape, a smile spread across his face.
You shifted, trying to move over in the bed, but the sheets seemed determined to trap you. Your fingers fumbled with the thick blankets, each movement sending little sparks of pain through your bruised body.
Cregan was at your side in an instant. "What are you doing?" he asked, his hands hovering over you uncertainly.
"Make room for you," you murmured, still struggling with the stubborn bedding. "Help me?"
His expression softened impossibly further. Without a word, he gently untangled the sheets, his movements careful and deliberate. You watched as he shrugged off his heavy coat, the fur-lined garment falling to the floor with a soft thud. He bent to remove his boots, and you couldn't help but notice how his hands shook slightly – the only outward sign of how shaken he still was.
When he finally slid into bed beside you, it was with the utmost care, as if you were made of the finest Myrish glass. He settled on his side, propped up on one elbow, his other hand finding yours atop the blankets. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.
You couldn't quite suppress the small whimper that escaped your lips. "Bruise," you explained at his alarmed look, "I think I'm collecting quite a few of them."
"Tell me where it doesn't hurt," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that you could feel in your chest. His free hand hovered over you, waiting for direction.
You considered for a moment, taking stock of your battered body. "My left pinky," you said with a hint of mischief, "seems to have escaped unscathed."
Cregan's laugh was quiet but genuine, warm breath ghosting across your skin. He lifted your left hand with exaggerated care and pressed a feather-light kiss to your smallest finger. "Anywhere else?"
"Mmm," you hummed thoughtfully, "the tip of my nose?"
He obliged, brushing his lips over the bridge of your nose with such tenderness that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. When he pulled back, his grey eyes were soft with an emotion that made your heart flutter.
"I should be cross with you," he murmured, his fingers trailing carefully along your jawline, avoiding the visible bruises. "I had plans today, you know. Important meetings with the bannermen about winter preparations."
"And instead you're playing nursemaid to your reckless wife," you finished for him, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. A sharp intake of breath betrayed your discomfort, and immediately his hand was at your back, supporting you.
"Easy," he whispered, helping you settle.
His eyes searched your face for a moment before his lips quirked up in a small smile. "And what of your lips?" he asked softly. "Are they among the casualties?"
"A little sore," you admitted, but even as you said it, you were already tilting your chin up slightly, an invitation in the gesture. "Though I might be willing to risk it."
"Careful now," he murmured, even as he began to lean down. "I won't have you adding to your injuries."
You puckered up in response.
He smiled against your mouth before capturing your lips in the gentlest of kisses. It was barely more than a whisper of contact, but it held all the words he couldn't say – his fear, his relief, his love. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading carefully through your hair, mindful of any hidden bumps or bruises.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with emotion. You could see the struggle in them – the desire to pull you closer warring with his fear of causing you pain. Always so careful with you, your warrior lord, even when his own heart was racing with need.
"I should let you rest," he said, though he made no move to leave.
"Stay," you whispered, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. "Please. I'll rest better with you here."
He studied your face for a long moment before nodding. "As my lady commands," he said softly, settling back beside you. "Though you must promise to tell me if anything hurts."
"I promise," you murmured, already feeling the pull of sleep. The milk of the poppy was making your thoughts fuzzy around the edges, but you fought against it for a moment longer. "Cregan?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you," you managed through a yawn. "Even if I did ruin your important meetings."
His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "The bannermen can wait," he said, pressing another kiss to your temple, careful to avoid the bruise this time. "You, my love, cannot. Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake."
As you drifted off, you felt him draw the blankets up higher around your shoulders. Your fingers remained fisted in his tunic, the fabric warm and solid beneath your touch. He didn’t try to pry them away, letting you hold onto him as though he was your lifeline – which, in many ways, he was. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles along your arm, the touch so gentle it was like a balm against the dull ache spreading through your body.
You were dimly aware of his other hand moving to stroke your hair, the callouses on his fingers surprisingly soft as they combed through the tangled strands. He whispered to you, voice low and steady, his words a mixture of reassurances and murmured promises that blurred together into a comforting hum.
“I think you just wanted an excuse to see if I’d come running.” he joked. His fingers traced the curve of your arm, each touch deliberate yet playful.
Your lips twitched into a faint smile, though your eyes stayed closed. “Mmm… not quite,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion but still carrying a trace of amusement.
You huffed a soft laugh, your fingers tightening in his tunic as if to refute him without words.
“I knew it,” he continued, his grin evident even in his voice. “All that trouble just so I’d come galloping in like some lovesick fool. You do realize, don’t you, that I would’ve come without you risking life and limb?”
His fingers moved to gently brush the hair from your face, and you could feel the tenderness in his touch despite the mock seriousness of his words.
“You’re insufferable,” you whispered, though the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed the warmth blooming in your chest.
Cregan chuckled softly at your words, the sound low and warm, like a hearth fire in the dead of winter. His arm tightened around you, drawing you closer as though to prove a point – or perhaps to reassure himself that you were truly here, alive and safe. His lips found your temple, pressing one, two, three soft kisses there, each one slower and more deliberate than the last.
“You’ll be the death of me, woman,” he murmured against your skin, though his voice was laced with fondness. “But I think I’d welcome it.”
Your fingers loosened slightly in his tunic as the exhaustion finally overtook you. He felt the exact moment your breathing evened out, the tension melting from your body as sleep claimed you. Yet, even then, he didn’t let go.
Cregan stayed exactly as he was, holding you as though the act itself could shield you from harm. His fingers resumed their gentle tracing along your arm, and he pressed one last kiss to your hairline, his breath stirring the strands.
Welcome to me trying to convince you to check out my Cregan Stark fic (AO3 and Wattpad) by sharing the mood boards and song assignments for each character important to the story, including my Original Character, Aemma! Under the cut out of consideration. 💕
______________________
__________________
Aemond Targaryen
Kinslayer
Act I - Tongues and Teeth // The Crane Wives
"But I am not a vessel for your good intent.”
Act II - Ptolemaea // Ethel Cain
"Even the iron still fears the rot, hiding from something I cannot stop."
•••
Jacaerys Velaryon
The People's Prince
Act I - Daniel in the Den // Bastille
"And for every king that died, they would crown another.”
Act II - I See Fire // Ed Sheeran
"If this should end in fire, then we should all burn together.”
•••
Cregan Stark
The Wolf of the North
Act I - Blood Upon the Snow // Hozier, Bear McCreary
“The wolf that seeks always his own kind.”
Act II - Northern Attitude // Noah Kahan, Hozier
“Forgive my northern attitude, I was raised on little light.”
•••
Aemma Velaryon
Dragon Dreamer
Act I - The Prophecy // Taylor Swift
“A greater woman wouldn’t beg, but I looked to the sky and said, ‘Please, I’ve been on my knees.’”
Act II - City on a Hill // Mon Rovia
“There’s a void only silence can fill. Where you are is all that’s real.”
Bonus!
Enjoy the moodboard I made for the dragon Aemma claims, Anōgar!
favorite thing in asoiaf is that the stark family tree is just filled with haters in every generation. theon stark brandon snow alaric stark cregan stark even ned's brother brandon and lyanna too. even the current kids jon snow robb sansa and arya all have some kendrick lamar level of beef w at least one person. brandon the builder spawned an entire genre of haters
Summary - In the unforgiving North, a Southern princess struggles with her political marriage to Cregan, feeling like an outsider. As she voices her insecurities, their bond deepens, transforming their alliance into a passionate connection that bridges the divide between their worlds.
Pairing - Cregan Stark x Martell reader
Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)
Word count - 2124
Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.
Born into nobility, my life had always felt scripted—a path inked not by my own desires but by the hands of the men around me.
My father, my uncle, my brother, even the echoes of my grandfather shaped the walls around me.
As a daughter of House Martell, the rulers of sun-drenched Dorne, my existence was predetermined, my fate a strategy in the game of thrones woven by my father, Prince Qoren Martell himself.
A Martell daughter, after all, was a prize to be bartered, and he had chosen a formidable match.
He pledged me to Cregan Stark, Lord of House Stark, in the distant, unforgiving North.
A union as calculated as it was unfeeling, our marriage was intended to bind the desert heat of Dorne with the ice and shadows of Winterfell.
It was a pact, a quiet promise to fortify our realms and maintain a precarious balance in the ever-shifting powers of Westeros. My father assured me it was for our people, for peace.
But I knew what the alliance would cost me: the endless winds that sliced through bone, the chill that would burrow into my soul, the lonely shadows that clung to Winterfell's walls like phantoms.
The North was all I had dreaded—an imposing land where silence lingered thickly in the air, and winter settled in more than just the stones.
Every breath was laced with frost, every glance held a guarded judgment, as if they wondered if this southern-born woman could ever survive in a world so different, so grim.
And always, there were whispers—"the Dornish wife"—spoken softly yet deliberately, trailing me like spectres through the dim corridors.
Yet amid the cold and the solitude, Cregan Stark surprised me.
He was not the man I had envisioned: distant and unyielding, a creature as cold as the land he ruled.
Instead, Cregan had a quiet strength, a kindness that seemed out of place in such a harsh land. He understood, perhaps better than I, the challenges I faced here.
With subtle gestures and quiet assurances, he tried to ease my discomfort, his attentions more thoughtful than I'd dared hope. He never pressed, but he was there—a grounding presence, a warmth that, little by little, began to soften the edges of my isolation.
A moon had passed since our union. I was neither entirely happy nor entirely sorrowful; I was simply... here.
Somewhere between contentment and restlessness, caught in a place that wasn't mine yet somehow, piece by piece, was becoming so.
Winterfell was no closer to being home, but Cregan's attentions made the frigid halls more bearable, his patience an anchor as I drifted, my heart searching for familiarity in a sea of foreignness.
One evening, as twilight painted the snow in hues of indigo and grey, I stood on the balcony, gazing out across Winterfell.
The frosty landscape stretched endlessly, an ocean of cold where dawn seemed forever on the edge of arriving but never quite here.
As I watched the endless expanse of snow, I remembered the hot, golden sands of Sunspear.
In Dorne, the sun-kissed our skin, the scent of ripe figs and sea salt filled the air. Here, every corner held a chill, every shadow seemed to whisper secrets.
In that stillness, I heard a voice—a voice I had come to know well, warm yet edged with the subtle command of a lord.
"What's on your mind?" Cregan's words reached me, low and tender.
Startled, I turned to see him leaning on the railing beside me, his gaze thoughtful. His presence was a welcome warmth, and yet I found myself instinctively closing in, the winter wind cutting through my gown.
"Nothing," I replied, a feeble defence as my voice carried softly into the chill.
He studied me quietly, his eyes catching the slight shiver that ran through me as the wind nipped at my shoulders.
"Doesn't look like 'nothing,'" he said, his voice low. "You're cold. Come inside."
Without waiting for my reply, he draped his cloak over my shoulders, guiding me toward the warmth of our chambers, stopping by the hearth as the flames crackled to life.
"I don't belong," I murmured, staring into the fire. My fingers traced the thick Northern fabric of my gown—a cloth I'd hoped would make me feel less like an outsider.
The weight of the words hung between us as if spoken aloud for the first time, stirring the silence in the dim room.
"What do you mean, my love?" Cregan's voice broke the quiet, a softness I hadn't expected.
He turned to face me, his eyes searching mine with a rare vulnerability as if my answer mattered more than the words themselves.
I took a long, steadying breath, watching the flames dance and trying to gather the right words.
"They still see me as different," I whispered. "A stranger, from a land they neither know nor trust. I try to blend in, to be... what I think they want. But sometimes, I wonder if they'll ever truly see me as one of their own."
My voice trembled as the truth spilt out, deeper than I'd intended. "They whisper, Cregan when they think I can't hear. They don't trust me. And some days, I'm not sure they ever will."
Cregan listened in silence, his gaze steady and unwavering.
Without a word, he reached for my hand, his calloused fingers rough yet gentle as they enveloped mine, grounding me in the midst of my insecurities.
"Give them time," he said softly, his voice like a balm. "The North can be as harsh as winter itself, slow to warm, but it's not unyielding."
His hand lifted my chin, guiding my gaze up to meet his. In his eyes, I saw not just kindness, but an unwavering strength, as if he could will my doubts away by the force of his conviction alone.
"You belong here, with me," he said, his voice a quiet promise. "No whispers or frost will ever change that."
I felt his words settle over me like a cloak, their warmth reaching parts of my heart I hadn't realized were cold. But still, uncertainty lingered, stubborn and unrelenting.
Perhaps sensing my hesitation, Cregan shifted closer, his presence wrapping around me like an unbreakable fortress.
He cupped my cheek with a tenderness that both surprised and soothed me.
"You are the heat I've always been missing," he murmured, his voice low and thick with meaning.
Slowly, his hand drifted down, sliding under the folds of my gown with a touch that sent a shiver through me—a sensation born not of the cold, but of something deeper.
"What are you doing?" I asked, a laugh escaping as I fought back my nervousness.
"Showing you." His voice was gentle, a playful glint in his eyes. "Showing you that you belong."
With a tender confidence, his hands moved, sending ripples through me that melted the tension from my body.
His touch was warm and steady, his fingers tracing up my sides, and for the first time since coming to the North, I felt my fears begin to ease as if his presence alone could erase them.
The doubts, the whispers—they all faded as his hands explored, each caress a quiet reassurance.
His gaze held mine, unwavering, and in that moment, there was an intimacy that transcended touch, a promise woven in the quiet between us.
He leaned in, his lips finding mine, capturing them with a gentleness that made me feel like I was being seen for the first time. His kiss was both soft and fervent, his lips warm as they moved against mine, igniting a fire that outmatched any northern hearth.
As his hands roamed over my body, rough and calloused from years of wielding steel, they were uncharacteristically gentle, tracing the lines of my skin as if memorizing each curve.
His fingers held a kind of reverence, as if I were something precious, not just the wife bound to him by a political alliance but a person who was cherished.
In that moment, he lifted me, guiding me slowly towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss.
I felt myself sink into the softness of the furs as he laid me down, the flickering fire casting its amber glow across the room, cocooning us in its warmth.
There was a tenderness in his touch as he caressed me, his movements slow and purposeful, each gesture a quiet declaration.
The world outside the chamber ceased to exist; there was no cold, no looming suspicion, no whispers echoing down the corridors.
Only Cregan and the fire between us, burning bright and fierce.
His lips trailed down my neck, each kiss a spark that sent warmth radiating through me. He paused, his gaze seeking mine as his hand found the ties of my gown, his touch both reverent and questioning.
I met his eyes, giving him the permission he silently sought, and with careful, deliberate movements, he began to untie it, each pull of the fabric a slow unveiling.
As the gown slipped away, leaving me bare before him, I felt no vulnerability, only an overwhelming sense of being cherished.
Cregan's eyes held nothing but admiration, and in that look, he banished every doubt, every whisper that had haunted me since I'd arrived in the North.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice raw and thick with emotion. "So beautiful."
His words soaked into me, warming those fragile places hidden within, and I felt myself drawn to him, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling him close.
His warmth was a balm, a grounding presence I needed as his lips found mine, slow and deliberate, speaking promises only we could hear.
With a practised, fluid ease, he shed the last of his clothes, his gaze never breaking from mine.
His bare skin met mine in a press that was both electric and soothing, each inch of contact igniting a surge of feeling, of completeness that made me gasp.
His hands traced down my sides, exploring the curves and lines of my body, as if they held secrets he'd yearned to know.
Every touch, every brush of his fingers sent shivers across my skin.
He lowered himself, aligning our bodies with a reverence that made my heart ache.
When he settled between my thighs, his touch shifted, moving from a delicate exploration to a quiet, steady possession.
His grip on me tightened, anchoring me beneath him, and his eyes held a ferocity that was matched by the tenderness in his touch. He was wholly mine, and I, his.
"You're mine," he whispered his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through me. "Mine."
"Yes," I breathed, my fingers pressing into his shoulders as I clung to him, letting myself believe it. "Yours."
He moved with a deliberate rhythm, each thrust a declaration, an unspoken vow that silenced the doubts within me.
Every part of me, every fragment I thought too broken to matter, felt seen, treasured.
The warmth grew between us, winding up in intensity as he continued, his movements steady, yet laced with a simmering need that built with each passing moment.
His hands roamed over me, possessive yet reverent, fingers tracing gentle lines along my skin. His lips left trails of warmth, soft whispers mingling with our breaths.
The connection between us thrummed with a strength that felt sacred, binding us beyond words, deeper than the physical.
Our rhythm intensified, his hands gripping my waist, his lips capturing my moans as we chased the rising wave together.
The air was thick with the sounds of our bodies, the soft crackle of the fire, the murmurs of our whispered names.
In that moment, there was no North or South, no whispers of "the Dornish wife." There was only Cregan and me, bound together by a love that had taken root in the most unlikely of places.
When the climax came, it hit with a force that left us breathless, a bliss that surged through us like fire and water, fierce yet softening.
He held me through it, our breaths mingling as we trembled in the aftermath, our hearts beating as one.
Cregan collapsed beside me, his arms wrapping around me as he pulled me close. We lay there in the afterglow, our bodies entwined, the fire casting a soft glow over us.
"You belong here," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my soul. "With me."
"I do," I replied, my heart swelling with a newfound certainty. "I belong with you."
As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I knew that no matter the challenges we might face, we would face them together.
The North might be cold and unforgiving, but with Cregan by my side, I felt a warmth that could withstand any storm.
And in his embrace, I found not just a home, but a love that would endure.
A/n - I am such a sucker for any Dornish reader works 😝
people often cite otto’s manipulation and resultant damnation of alicent—wherein she is his political pawn and subjected to essential marital rape for the sake of his schemes—but not many realize viserys is guilty of a similar crime. he named rhaenyra heir on a political whim, using her as his pawn to spite daemon among other things, and opened her up to pedestalization dehumanization and ridicule at a young age where she had just lost her mother. this, whether he could have predicted it or not, led to her uncle’s long term grooming to come to a headway and end with her drunk and naked in a brothel so that daemon could get back at him.
